Undies

Sarah was not my real name. Fe gave this name to me to anonymize me in an interview she did for the student newspaper. Fe is not Fe’s real name.

There is one moment I didn’t mention in my last post. Fe, Ben and I were sitting on the pillow case, drinking tea and reading fortune cookie fortunes to each other.

Speaking of fortune: I still talk about it with self-irony, but part of me really believes in the dumpster god. Last night, among all those other brilliant things, like two left-hand working mittens and a device making annoying sounds to get rid of moles and probably any other creature hanging out in your garden, we got various pairs of underwear. I got really excited when I discovered them, cause that means I can cross off yet another item of my wishlist. Just that within all this variety, my variation wasn’t among it. There were three pairs for guys, one being huge. One for a woman, but really really huge, and three Hannah Montana ones for kids. I look up into the sky and say:

“Dear dumpster god. I really appreciate that you took my wish for underwear into account. But seriously, I’m not that big!”

My glance leaves the night sky and wanders over to the massive amounts of cake. In his defense, he might just act in anticipation.

Or, OR: I might just be too fast in my frustration. The Hannah Montana underwear is AWESOME. The one has a glitter butterfly on the mons pubis. Pure trash. It’s kids size, but hey, it might fit anyway, right?

Turns out it does. Thus I am a new Hannah Montana fan. And since Sarah isn’t my real name anyway, I switched to calling myself Hannah.

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